Iron Throne High School
by thatlannisterlifestyle
Summary: A modern-day AU, where the Stark children, Daenerys, Joffrey etc. all attend Iron Throne High School. This has been done before, but I'll try to make mine unique! My first proper fanfiction, so advice/criticism much appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Iron Throne High School**

**Chapter 1**

Robb POV

I stare at the slanted ceiling above the back staircase of our house, memorising every last chip in the plaster, every coffee stain whoever was cleaning the ceiling tried their best to hide, every stray cobweb between the wooden beams, remnants of my family's past, stretching back thousands of years. A younger Robb Stark probably wouldn't have been this anxious. He was never the kid to let the beginning of his final year at school faze him. He was too brave for that, too caught up in continuing the honour of the Stark family to let anything _scare_ him. But, the man who I am now, who sits on the stairs and gazes at the ancient ceilings of his house while losing sleep at two in the morning, is not that Robb.

Because this past summer, that Robb left. And it doesn't look like he's coming back.

I hear a sound, the first significant sound in the hour or so I've been sitting here. Someone's footsteps descend onto the stair above mine. And almost robotically, as most movements are at this hour, a hand reaches out to my shoulder.

"Mother?" I say, my mouth dry from a combination of thirst and my unfamiliarity with speaking, an activity I haven't participated in during this sleepless night, and have tried to avoid partaking in too much these past few weeks.

She looks at me out of her intense, blue-grey eyes, which hold worry and concern, but perhaps also something darker, something she'd rather hide. My mother holds a quiet, warm smile during the mundane moments of life, but that is not the expression she holds now. Now her face displays something more menacing. And it's her face that tells me she isn't just here to tell me to get some sleep, which in my current state of mind will be impossible. She understands the emotions I've harboured since it happened, and won't suggest something that won't help, or tell me something I don't already know. Whatever she has come to talk to me about, it's dangerous enough that I am compelled to listen simply by looking at her.

"Robb," she replies, after some time. "I'm not here to tell you about how hard what happened to your father was for you. You _know_, better than anyone. You've been told this a thousand times, by your friends, by passers-by, even online by people in school you barely know, but I'll say it again. You _can_ get through tomorrow, and the rest of the year. Ned being gone shouldn't stop you. But there is something you should know."

Anxiety sweeps over me. "What?"

"Your father's death may not have been the accident the police made it out to be."

Now it's less anxiety, but confusion, that sweeps over me. "What? No. It can't be. It wasn't a 'unusual circumstance', or whatever they call it. Drunken driver swerves off course at the corner of Casterly Road, and hits the car ahead of him. They say that corner's the hardest driving manoeuvre you can attempt in Westeros. That same story's been told a thousand times."

My mother sighs, and says, "It's fitting you should call it a 'story' that's been 'told', because that's exactly what it is. The police were bribed to cover up the 'unusual circumstance' you speak of, and in turn the forensic detective-types were bribed to turn a blind eye to anything that looked suspicious. And who was behind it? The Lannisters."

I furrow my eyebrows at her quizzically. "OK, I get that Joffrey has bullied me and the others since kindergarten, and his mother doesn't exactly do anything to stop it, but is that enough to warrant murdering our father?"

Another, almost condescending, sigh ensues. "And why doesn't Cersei ever scold her son, or even apologise on his behalf? Because the same thing happened when our generation attended Iron Throne High, and the same with our grandfathers and great-grandfathers before us. The Lannisters and the Starks are the most powerful and successful families in this town, and they have hated each other since before any of us were alive, and will continue to do so until and after we all are dead. It's a cycle, and the next step in the cycle seems to be murder." She says the final line with an air of resignation.

I have never been particularly good at articulating myself, and now is no exception; there's a lot of information to take in, and it changes how I perceive everything: my father's death, my family, the Lannisters…the list goes on. But a few questions do stand out. "How does this affect how I act at school tomorrow? Around Sansa, Arya and Bran? Around Joffrey?"

My mother gives me that intense, dangerous stare again, and says the most forceful thing she's said all night. "Keep your mouth shut," she says coldly, her commanding tone freezing me for a second, "Pretend you know nothing. I would have waited to tell you, but when the truth comes out, it'll work to our favour to have both of us in on the Lannisters' secret. But even now, I can't be sure I even know the whole truth, or any of the truth at all. But if I am reading the situation right, you'll be ready when the Lannisters make their next move, however subtle it may be. Keep both eyes open."

At this, her face returns to its usual kind mask, and sweeps her auburn locks behind her ear, both physically and mentally tidying herself up. "You will make it through tomorrow" is her parting line, as she makes her way back up the stairs, and I resume my staring at the ceiling, but now with an even more conflicted mind.

**A/N: So that's that. My first proper fanfiction. As in most AU fanfictions, some of the characters might possibly become OOC, but I'll try my best :). The story will probably be centered around the Starks for the next few chapters, but I'll definitely incorporate Daenerys's POV and some others later on. It's also not set in stone where the story might go, so I will consider any ideas you might have. For now, I don't want to be one of those authors always begging for reviews, but I'd love to hear your thoughts! - C**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for 100 views!**

**Chapter 2**

Catelyn POV

It looks like any other picture-perfect view of five brothers and sisters eating breakfast together, awaiting a new school year. It's only when you look closer that you see it's a little more complicated.

Robb doesn't look like he's at all over the events of last night, and in all honesty, you really can't blame him. Everything he does looks perfectly ordinary at a glance, but at a closer look, his every action seems a little…_off_. He does eat the pancakes and bacon stacked on his plate, despite his sleepy-voiced statement of "I'm not hungry" earlier, but he eats each item one by one, systematically, like the food is simply a tool for preventing starvation, not something to enjoy. His appearance also looks normal from a distance, but closer up you can see the wrinkles in his white T-shirt, as if he has settled for an old shirt rather than rifling through his drawers for a cleaner one, and you can somehow see how our discussion last night has taken his innocence in the way his brown curls, previously a sort of artful mess, now droop around his face.

His final year at school shouldn't have to start this way.

I worry about how the others will take the truth when it comes out – that's if it _is_ the truth. From my position washing the breakfast bowls on the other side of the kitchen, I look at them one by one. Sansa peacefully stares out of the French windows onto the garden, wearing a thin, sleeveless sundress with a few summer flowers braided into her hair, taking advantage of the last remnants of August's heat. Her current pose represents her entire nature – she's a daydreamer, which seems to have led her to poetry, judging by the torn-out pages from her notebook I found in her room earlier this summer. I'm worried though, that the dark side of her personality is that she is too impressionable, which won't work in her favour around manipulative types like Joffrey at school, or any of the Lannister family.

Arya is probably Sansa's polar opposite. A year ago, she persuaded Ned and me into allowing her to get a pixie cut which, although it has grown out a little, still gives her an image of fierceness. And it's a truthful image. She's probably the loudest in our family, the most stubborn and argumentative, but this probably translates into a fierce loyalty towards the things she loves. But arguing too hard will only provoke the Lannisters. And then there's Bran, and Rickon. The two youngest siblings, still in Iron Throne Junior, but possibly two of the most intelligent. They're quiet, but it's not Sansa's dreamy quietness. It's more of a shrewd sort of quietness, as if they're always reading between the lines of what people say and do. It's a strange thought, but I think the two of them may take the information better than the others; Robb has become stressed, Sansa will panic, Arya will fight against people stronger than her. But Bran or Rickon may just find out the truth, and protect the family.

Today's school day should be interesting.

Robb POV

"I have to meet Jon, he said he'd give me a ride in today, see you all later!" I yell from the front porch steps, and walk out into the warm but crisp early September air. The story about Jon giving me a lift is true, but on a normal day, I would give Sansa and Arya the chance to take the free ride with me. But today, I cannot handle being around them when I know so much more about our situation than they do. So the real reason I left before them is to be alone. At least for the walk up to Jon's house.

I pat my ash-coloured husky dog, Grey Wind, on the head, and walk off. Our street, Winterfell Avenue, is usually imposing in appearance, but looking up the street from this angle, it looks oddly beautiful. Squat, granite buildings, large, but not frighteningly large, with French windows and small verandas at the front; it's cosy, like somewhere you'd want a large family like ours to live, but not unsurprising like some suburban areas are – instead, the granite and the size of the buildings makes the street look dramatic.

The walk to the northern end of Winterfell Avenue goes by in a blur, the way journeys always do when you have things to think about. Soon enough, I see Jon's car, and he rolls his window down.

"Hey!" he shouts, fairly enthusiastically, but he sobers up when he sees the look of pensive worry on my face. I can hear his husky, Ghost's, panting in the back seat die down with Jon's happiness.

"Hey," I say, pulling myself into the passenger seat, trying to mask over the awkwardness.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your father." He says hesitantly.

"He was your father too." I reply, my brows furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, I'm grieving too, but it has to be worse for you. There was always some distance between me and him, that there never was with you."

I am silent at this, thinking about Jon's past. He and I are half-brothers, him being the child of a short relationship my father had a year or two before he met my mother. He grew up with me and the others, but I always sensed some hostility towards him from my mother, and while my father was somewhat kinder, I think some of the hostility spread. So as soon as he could, which was about three years ago, Jon left school and home, stayed with some friends until he got a steady enough job as a security guard, and gradually earned enough for an apartment in the north of the city and the second-hand car we're in now, and also developed a new identity: no longer Jon Stark, but Jon Snow. Him giving up our prestigious surname should offend me, but he's probably better off for it, especially with the whole feud with the Lannisters going on.

"You okay?" He asks, concerned. I must have paled thinking about the Lannisters. I shrug, pretending it's just the annual back-to-school nerves; now isn't the time or place to tell him about my father's possible murder – my other brothers and sisters don't even know yet, and we're almost at school anyway.

"You can do this, Robb. We're both Starks, even if I no longer bear your name. Starks are brave. Starks can handle school even if their fathers have died." His voice cracks a little at this, but he covers it up. "Everyone in your family says this, so it probably means nothing to you, but you can be successful, like the other Starks before you. You _can_. And this year is your chance to show it." He pats me on the shoulder. I sigh in relief. He thinks it's only school nerves, which it actually was before my mother's little discussion last night. My act worked.

I say it's only school nerves, but as I approach the gates I've seen every year since I was eleven years old, with the iron swords from the school's crest acting as bars, there _is_ a fear that comes with it. But not really of school, more of the people in it. Especially the Lannisters.

**A/N: Yeah, I know I changed Jon Snow's back-story quite a lot, but if you think about it, his story is kind of hard to adapt into the modern-day, and what I came up with works better with the rough story idea I've written so far. Anyway, hope you're enjoying it so far! Would still love to hear what you all think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Joffrey POV

"Hurry up!" my mother yells from the rolled-down car window. Since I was a child, she's always insisted on driving me to school, and even though I'm sixteen now, it's a habit that hasn't ever really gone away. To be honest, the moral, environmentally friendly thing to do would be to walk, since it's a short and easy route from our mansion on Casterly Road to Iron Throne High, but since when are Lannisters people willing to take the moral option, when there's an easier way?

"I'm coming!" I reply, and as I head down the cobbled path through our meticulously maintained front garden, I take a minute to admire my surroundings. While some parts of the city of Westeros look like they need some tending to – cobwebs hiding behind corners, overgrown plants, front doors made of rotting wood that haven't been replaced in hundreds of years, and other examples of pathetic low maintenance I'd rather not describe – the suburb we live in, Lannisport, and especially Casterly Road itself, have an air of the fresh and new about them. Each identical, whitewashed house looks like it could have been built yesterday, no one likes to go too long without an unwashed car or clothes that are anything less than brand new, and everyone who lives here tries to maintain a feeling of exclusivity.

My mother and I aren't exceptions to the rule about exclusivity. All through my life, she's told me that I, and the rest of the Lannisters, am a step above the other prominent families in this city, and when they question this, I need to remind them that it's the truth. In fact, I remember her words to me on my first day of kindergarten. She pointed to the other kids waiting at the school gates, grasped me by the shoulders, and said: "These people aren't your friends. They're people who think they deserve what we have, and our job is to tell them different." And the last twelve years, that's the motto I've always endeavoured to follow. I've always tried to wear better clothes than those other people, designer brands instead of their generic hand-me-downs, get better grades than them, even if it occasionally involves not playing by the rules, and most importantly, only befriend people who can be used to help me get something I want. It's strange how easily tricked people can be.

We're just pulling over a couple of streets down from school – my mother doesn't like to park in the same place as everyone else – and my mother suddenly turns around to face me. She gives me her signature stern face that I've learnt to obey, and subtly rolls up her T-shirt sleeve to reveal her arm tattoo – a lion, which she always says is the animal every Lannister should aspire to be like.

"Joffrey," she says, after a second's pause, her tone not exactly angry, more commanding. "This year, there will be more people than ever who think they can be richer, smarter, more successful, better, than a Lannister. The Starks, for instance. Tell them their mistake." There's a smirk in her voice as she delivers the last line. As I turn to get out of the car, she calls to my back: "And if anyone ever does _anything_ to hurt you, remember what I always tell you about paying your debts."

I nod. I _always_ pay my debts.

Robb POV

I survey my classroom for my final year. When I was younger, having a new homeroom each year used to excite me, but now it doesn't feel like any change at all; every room in this building is the same, really, each with the same chairs, tables and bookshelves, just with different colour schemes, and sometimes varying in size. I think about what I have to do by the end of this year. Excel enough at school to bring honour to my name and to myself, and find a path to take afterwards that'll mean I eventually have some sort of importance in Westeros, to give the Stark name the prestige it deserves. But it's not surprising that that's what I'm aiming for. It's also what everyone else in my year is aiming for, and what everyone in the younger years will aim for when they reach my age. My other aim is the one that's possibly surprising for some: bring the Lannisters to justice. What they did was the natural way of things hundreds of years ago, not in this century where words like "freedom" and "prosperity" are thrown around in our city. It'll probably be years before I've done what is only right, but despite what my mother says about pretending I know nothing, the Lannisters are cleverer than us, and I know I have to start soon.

I could even start today.

I temporarily push the thoughts of vengeance from my mind, and have a look around at the others in my form. There's Renly Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell, both from fairly prominent families, ostensibly in a relationship, but throughout the years I've known them, I've always felt there was something a little…fake about them, like everything they did together around other people was them putting on a show, rather than being genuine. Then there's Daenerys Targaryen. She's quiet and subtle, and from the outset her peaceful behaviour reminds me somewhat of my eldest sister, except with Daenerys, occasionally you feel like she's not that simple. As if one day, she'll do something so incredible you wish you'd noticed her earlier. The Targaryens, after all, have a tarnished reputation after the scandalous political career of Daenerys's father, Aerys, so maybe that why she's so quiet.

The only real friend I've had during my time at Iron Throne is Theon. His family, the Greyjoys, haven't had the best relationship with mine in the past, and still aren't particularly accepting of the Starks, but Theon seems to be the rare sort of person in this city who befriends people over who they are rather than who their family are, and makes his own values instead of trusting those of his ancestors. As I sit by him making idle conversation, I think of telling him about the Lannisters, but I dismiss the thought with the same excuse as I gave when talking to Jon: most of my family doesn't know yet.

But if all goes well, everyone will know soon.

I can't pretend I know nothing for very much longer. The Lannisters have to know that I won't make the same mistakes as my father, that I won't blindly miss their deceptions. If I don't take action now, they'll keep thinking they can pull off huge tricks right in front of our noses, and while I like to think my mother and I are more perceptive than my father was, chances are we'll fall for it again. And I can't let that happen.

I go through the motions of my first few classes, never properly zoning out, but I never fully engage my concentration, because my mind is always on the confrontation I'm planning. And then we finally get a short break between classes. Even in the crowded hallways, it doesn't take long to find him. He has a talent for making everyone focus on him, despite being too cruel to have anything close to a friend. Despite being over two years younger than me, he carries a vicious, manipulative authority that people want to be around, mainly because they fear it so much. His name, of course, is Joffrey.

This amount of hatred is not very Stark-like, considering we always do what is morally best, and the last time I checked, hating someone this much is not particularly honourable. But just looking at him, his Lannister blonde hair, his superior smirk, the expensive baseball jacket he not only _wears_, but _flaunts_, inspires hatred in me that I don't often experience, and nor do many members of my family. But even if hatred isn't honourable, bringing someone to justice definitely is, and that's why I do what I do next.

I grab Joffrey's jacket collar and push him against the rattling metal of the lockers. "You," I seethe, and I savour the look of abrupt fear on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: People have asked about Joffrey's family/allegiance in this story, so I thought I'd clear that up now. It's something I had to think about for a long time, and I knew someone would bring it up eventually :). So, for this story to work, I needed Joffrey to be a Lannister and not a Baratheon, to show Lannister pride and believe in Lannister values, but I thought it would be hard to translate incest into the modern-day :/. For that reason, I'm keeping his father's identity ambiguous. Neither Robert nor Jaime is going to be important characters in this story, so I didn't think it mattered too much who exactly his father was, so long as his allegiance was to the Lannisters because of Cersei's influence on him. Hope that helps, enjoy the next chapter! – C**

**Chapter 4**

Joffrey POV

"What the _hell_?" I sputter in disbelief, my words coming out slightly hoarse due to the Stark kid's unwavering grip on my throat. Despite my mother's warnings about the Starks, I still hadn't expected an abrupt fight in the hallways on the first day back.

"You did this to my father, and now it's coming back to haunt you." Robb says through gritted teeth. He's not yelling, but the vengeful almost-whisper that comes out of his mouth has the sort of threatening intensity you never can achieve when you shout. I freeze for a moment at his words, and I have to think for a second about how to reply.

"You know I personally did nothing of the sort, but I'm sure your father got what he deserved," I say, more confident this time, pulling myself up to meet Robb's eyes, almost a head above mine. "And just because I have nothing to do with your father's death, does not mean I can forgive you for this. I never leave a debt unpaid." I smirk.

A second later, my building confidence gives way at the sight of Robb's face. His piercing blue eyes, usually placid, show a kind of fierceness you only see in a Stark who's been lied to. He's seen through my mask of bravado. He hasn't fallen for the Lannister brand of deception. And just like that, I break. I let my proud face fall, and struggle against Robb's strong grip for a few moments, until he decides to let me go. Had our positions been reversed, Robb wouldn't have given in so easily. He would've at least tried to fight back. The Lannisters may be cleverer and better manipulators than the Starks, but they're braver. Cowardice is perhaps our only flaw, but why should I fight for myself when I can trick others into fighting for me?

I turn around before I leave the hallway, to see a hundred pupils, all of their eyes on Robb, all boring into him, forcing shame upon him. I laugh to myself.

Robb thinks he's won, that he's done the morally correct thing, despite the glares he's getting. But he will learn the hard way that the most honourable action is not always the best action, and that a Stark can never outwit a Lannister.

Robb POV

Maybe I overreacted. Maybe the most honourable thing to do was just to ignore the Lannisters' pathetic attempt to assert authority by killing my father, and not get too involved in the whole feud, but instead I, of course, let my emotions take over me and lead me into a disgraceful, unprovoked fight. I watch people I barely know stare at me – _that kid just beat up the most popular boy in this school_, they're probably thinking – and I can feel my honour, my family's reputation, all the potential success I've ever worked for seep away from me like water dripping from a tap.

There are better ways to start a new school year.

I decide to do what I should've done earlier, and ignore everything: the stares, the muttered insults, the notoriety the name _Robb Stark_ now holds, everything. I decide to live completely in the moment, and just to think about the next place I have to be, the classroom at the other end of the hallway, rather than what I just did to Joffrey, or what I will do when word starts to get around. I'm like a horse wearing blinkers; I blur out anything and everything from my vision that does not lie in my immediate path to my next class. It's only about a hundred metres away now. _A hundred metres._

Then something blocks my way.

At first, in my confused state I can't work out exactly who it is taking a firm grip on my wrist and dragging me in the opposite direction, but looking at the way the students passing by drop into classrooms or turn to face their lockers in respect, I realise that no pupil – not even someone who commands fear like Joffrey – can hold that kind of authority over absolutely everyone. No, this is a teacher. And not the kind who will encourage and criticise you when the need takes him or her, but won't really have too much influence on you in the long-term. Rather, the kind who could give you all the opportunities you wanted or snap all your future potential in two, regardless of whether their reasons were justified or otherwise. As we move through the tidier areas of the school, their corridors furnished with sofas and gilded mirrors, I see that my worst fears have been confirmed: the plate on the office door we've stopped outside reads _P. Baelish_, the name of Iron Throne High's headmaster.

I feel like I won't leave this office for a while.

Daenerys POV

I watched the whole thing. Which isn't surprising really, considering that a fight in this school is thought of as a public entertainment, an excuse to come out of whatever dull lesson you're in. It isn't right really, and I'd love to find a way to stand up against that sort of exploitation, but now is not the time.

But I like to imagine that I read in between the lines of the fight a little better than my fellow spectators. While you can tell from the eyes following him through the hallway that Robb is going to take the official blame for the fight, as he instigated it, I have more than an inkling that there's more to it than that. Starks are well known for always trying to maintain their honour, and the only reason a faithful Stark like Robb would think to attack anyone was if they felt it was the right thing to do. And why would Robb consider fighting the right thing to do? If Joffrey had wronged him somehow.

This isn't just your typical Iron Throne High fight. And I seem to be the only one who sees this. Unfortunately for Robb, Mr Baelish probably won't share my viewpoint, him never having been a great fan of the Starks.

Targaryens are vengeful people, and we don't jump to the defence of just _anyone_. And we've also never been anything close to friends with the Starks. But I feel like Robb has made a fatal mistake in a conflict far bigger than a fight in the corridors, and even though I don't know the precise details of that conflict, my instincts tell me he doesn't have the skills to defend himself against whatever he's up against. And it's for that reason I find myself walking the back hallways of the school towards Mr Baelish's office.

**A/N: So I (finally) wrote in Daenerys's perspective! Would love to hear your thoughts! I have a feeling Dany would try to defend people at school when the need takes her, even those she barely knows, so her and Robb's encounter with Petyr should be interesting…:)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: To defend my recent decision to make Littlefinger the headmaster, I know he's a paedophile and everything, but I think his manipulative, biased, untrustworthy and just generally corrupt behaviour actually sometimes reminds me of teachers I've had in the past, who had very definite "favourite" students and would use even the smallest things you did wrong against you in the long-term. So I sort of based the version of Petyr who appears in this story partly on them. I don't know if that's just me who's had that experience, but I thought it would be interesting to explore him in that position. Anyway, I hope that decision isn't too unpopular, and enjoy the next chapter!**

**Chapter 5**

Robb POV

Most of Iron Throne High is sterile, with cleaners coming in every day after school to scrub the tiles and dust off the bookshelves, and with minimal decoration, apart from perhaps a few star essay papers pinned discreetly on the walls. Mr Baelish's office is different, though. The whole place has a musty smell and an almost secretive air about it, as if we only know half of what goes on it that room. Where most teachers choose metal or plastic, Mr Baelish chooses mahogany. And metal or plastic would look out-of-place, considering the sort of man he is. Most adults I've met say things in simple ways, in ways you can always see through, and decipher what they really mean. Mr Baelish, however, possesses an insane talent for hiding truths in cryptic sentences, so that you only realise what he was actually trying to tell you after it's too late.

"Stark, Robb," Mr Baelish says upon my entrance, not looking up from the file he's reading from. "That's a name I don't often hear in this room." Other people have at least a hint of pride towards me in their voices when they say things like this to me, but if there's anything I can read in my headmaster's tone, it's resentment, and perhaps a slight cruel smirk.

"I try to keep a good record, Sir," I say, trying not to falter, trying not to appear speechless in front of a man so eager to take advantage.

"You seemed to have failed on that target today, Stark." These words come from a high-pitched, slippery voice belonging to Mr Varys. He, along with another teacher named Mr Pycelle, is almost always seen flanking Mr Baelish, but I've never been sure exactly what the two of them _do_, apart from make fairly useless sarcastic comments like that one. I've always imagined them as somewhere between secretary and bodyguard.

"Mr Varys is right. I would ask you to take me through what happened today, as is protocol, but in your case it's fairly obvious. You get in a huff and decide to beat up a kid in the hallways. Said kid happens to have a bit of a reputation for getting his way, and even more dangerous for you, a band of unwaveringly loyal henchmen. Said henchmen crowd around to watch your little skirmish, word gets around to me, and that word, of course, is in Joffrey's favour. I then call you to my office and suspend you on grounds of fighting."

This time, I actually am speechless, and I can't think of any curt comment to work my way out of the silence. Another of Mr Baelish's talents is always having the last word. It's after several moments of deafening silence and challenging glares from the three teachers that I hear a knock at the door.

"Come in, come in!" calls Mr Baelish with a note of sarcasm. "I like to stick to my one-at-a-time policy, but you may have some fairly articulate and interesting sentences coming out of your mouth, unlike the Stark kid here. I need some distractions from the matter at hand."

"It's not a distraction, Sir." A new voice says, entering the room. I swear I know that voice, but I can't place it, because whoever's it is, they don't use it very often.

"It's still on the matter at hand. I've come to defend Robb."

Daenerys POV

"Ah, vouching for your friend, huh? I've heard that one before. Even sometimes with bribery involved, if it's the Lannisters." Mr Baelish says in a tone I'd like to record and play back if I ever feel like throwing up my dinner.

"He's not my friend." I reply through gritted teeth. If someone were watching this scene out of context, they'd assume my tone was out of anger from being considered Robb's friend. It's more out of annoyance, that our headmaster cannot be bothered even for a moment to take me seriously.

"She's right," Robb pipes up, "We've barely even spoken before." His bluish-grey eyes look up at me in hope, and I fervently wish Mr Baelish would decide to listen to me for long enough to hear me out.

"You two would both have much more opportunities to voice whatever your irrelevant, teenage thoughts might be on the matter, could I find enough naïvety inside of me to trust you." This time, I let out an audible sigh.

He rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine. I see you're the persistent type, Miss Targaryen. You have two minutes. Jump to your little pal's defence. Take one for the team, or whatever your generation calls it."

I clear my throat. Mr Baelish won't listen to me, I'm sure, but Robb should know I tried. "I have reason to believe that Robb was provoked. He wouldn't just do something like that for the fun of it."

"Too sentimental," Mr Baelish says snidely, "Cut to the chase."

"Well, you see– " I falter a second. I hadn't much thought about what to say at this point. "I saw Robb with Joffrey a couple of weeks ago. They didn't look to be the best of friends, you might say, to put it lightly." I'm stumbling again. "And I heard him talking to Theon Greyjoy. I didn't hear much, because I don't like to eavesdrop, Sir, but I heard Joffrey's name once or twice and, um, some bad things. Joffrey has done something to make Robb do…what he did." I hope Robb will go along with my lies. He's a Stark, and they like telling the truth, but he has to see that the honourable thing in this situation is to condemn the one clearly in the wrong, Joffrey. He HAS to.

"That's interesting, Miss Targaryen. It adds a whole new _dimension_ to the matter. A suspension now would be like saying this matter is sufficiently unexciting to not require further investigation. Robb, you are not off the hook. Far, far from it. But what we have here is perhaps more than it seems. You are both temporarily excused, but expect to see me again in the near future." Robb looks like he's seen a ghost, and I can't blame him. But at least he hasn't called me out as a liar.

I cannot speak. I cannot breathe. I saved someone's future, and it was someone I barely knew. And I don't regret it.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm back home now, everyone! I had a great time, but it's equally great to be back home writing :). Enjoy Chapter 6!**

**Chapter 6**

Robb POV

Daenerys Targaryen? Of all the people who might come and vouch for me, Daenerys Targaryen? Who I've never spoken a word to in my life, who I always thought was far too quiet and introverted to ever feel enough compassion towards someone to risk their reputation to defend them? And what about that speech she made? She fabricated a few vague stories, and somehow convinced Mr Baelish simply with an authoritative demeanour I never knew could exist inside of someone like that.

Humans are a judgemental species. We think we know who someone is from a few brief glances across the classroom; from the way they walk, the way they dress, the way they respond to teachers' superfluous questions. It's only when an opportunity like this comes up, that someone like Daenerys has a chance to tell someone like me what I've missed in them all this time. It's frightening when you think about it; there are hundreds of people I know, but don't truly _know_.

I try to my clear my head, and construct at least one rational thought about what's happened today. What she did was crazy. A type of craziness you think only happens in stories about courageous heroes, who risk their lives to save random strangers, not in real life. When I saw her shock of white blonde hair enter the office, I immediately thought of her as one of those fictional heroes, so brave, but also simultaneously so insane. Insane enough to risk everything she's ever worked for just to persuade a very stubborn man of the innocence of someone she knows nothing about. More than a part of me thinks that I too would do something like that, impulsively, but I'd deeply regret it later. Maybe she will, too.

But perhaps it wasn't an act of bravery at all, nor one of madness. Look at what happened from a different angle, and it seems to be the ultimate act of friendship, compassion, or love. I'm not entirely sure which of the three. Could Daenerys have done what she did out of personal feelings towards me? Or, to see the whole thing under a very different light, could there have been something in it for her? Both seem impossible. Daenerys has never seemed manipulative or calculating, but she's never showed any particular interest in me either. But I can't be certain about anything. If I've learnt anything from the fifteen minutes I spent in that office, it's that there's a lot Daenerys doesn't let people know about her.

Daenerys and I walk silently down the hallways in the direction of our next class. I know not to try to talk to her, and she knows not to try to talk to me. There's nothing really to say, and her head is probably no less confused than mine. We walk in synchronisation, and we don't make eye contact, but it's not awkward. I think we'd both prefer to forget about what happened rather than talk about it. That's until I realise we're not headed to a classroom like I thought, but rather to the school's entrance.

"Daenerys, we have Maths next. It's on the second floor, not down here on the ground floor."

"Who said we were going to Maths class?" she replies, still looking forward, instead of at me.

"I just assumed– "

By this point, we're standing down the hallway from the school's front door. Daenerys cuts my rambling off by looking me straight in the eye and saying yet another thing I wouldn't expect from her.

"Would you like to get the hell out of here?" she says with a vaguely fierce tone, through gritted teeth.

"You never struck me as the type to want to 'get the hell out of here'." In fact, there are several things she never struck me as before now, that she has proved me wrong about.

"Never struck you as the persuasive type either, I guess," she says sarcastically, reading my mind. "But come on, Robb. Just think about what everyone in class would say if you sauntered back in like nothing had happened. We can just miss this afternoon, and by tomorrow, all the conflict-hungry idiots will have forgotten all about it. And then there's the small matter of me. They won't just ignore me now, like they always have done. Going back now would practically _destroy_ my goal of getting through school without being noticed."

"Is that your goal?" I ask, suddenly intrigued. She's definitely never really been noticed before, but I wouldn't have guessed it was a conscious goal of hers to remain invisible.

"See, _that_ is the kind of thing we could talk about if you skipped school with me. I mean, you don't necessarily need to come, but I can't see why you would want to go back to class, or back home, and I can't think of anywhere else you'd want to go."

"Where are you going to go for the rest of the afternoon? Home?" I realise now that, apart from her father having died fairly young after a life of scandal, I know nothing at all about Daenerys's home or her family.

"No! My brother will _kill_ me!" she says, obviously trying to hide her anger and fear. "He never really got over what happened to our father, his downfall and everything, and he thinks our family deserve a better reputation than they have," she explains, calmer now, but still sorrowful. "And he was kind of a failure in school himself, so basically he's completely relying on me now. Considering the sort of person he is, that doesn't make my life too great."

"I'm sorry," I say. It's pathetic, but it's the first thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Don't be," she replies. "That's only the start of the things you should know about me. And I'm guessing the same is true of you." I smile slightly at this. Daenerys definitely can read people better than most. Perhaps it's all that silent observing I've always associated with her.

"You never did say where we could go, if neither of us can stay in school or go home."

"I know a place we could go, if you're still up for it."

Daenerys has used her persuasive skills once again. "I am." I reply, more confident than I've been in a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Decided to be a little unpredictable and have some different POVs! Enjoy!**

Chapter 7

Joffrey POV

For a moment, I'm frozen. It's as if Robb's hand was still there, pushing me up against the lockers. I put on my best "strong" face for the remaining onlookers, the usual façade of bravado I use to make people listen to me, but inside I'm stunned. There was I, thinking that the Stark family were too tied up in their naïve morals to do anything dangerous, that I could have them all under my thumb in an instant, just like I can with everyone else. Then one of them comes along and beats me up. Everything I thought I knew is wrong. It sounds clichéd, but it's the truth right now.

There are some people in this world who aren't scared of me. Who won't be silenced by one word from my mouth. Who I can't make bow down to my every command with a single authoritative stare. It's a new revelation, and a frightening one.

_Shut up, Joffrey_, I tell my conflicted mind. _What would your mother say if she knew you were thinking like this? She'd be disappointed. You are a Lannister, so act like one._ Throughout my life, my mother has told me that if I make people afraid of me, I won't get hurt, and that's a strategy that's worked up until now. The problem is, though, she had perhaps too much faith in me, and she never told me what to do when it _doesn't _work.

However, there is something else she always told me, right from when I was very young: _a Lannister ALWAYS pays his debts_. When I was still a child, I used to think that she was giving me some practical monetary advice for when I eventually inherit the Lannister family business, but now, of course, I see her true meaning. And never more clearly than today. I obviously can't pay my debt to Robb by fighting him; I'd lose in an instant. So I have to get my revenge some other way. And walking into History class, I have a few ideas.

I don't know her name. I've always referred to her in my head as "the innocent-looking ginger one" or "the quieter Stark girl", or something along those lines. In fact, I don't know very much about her at all. Other than, of course, that she is the most effective way to make Robb sorry for what he did to a Lannister.

Sansa POV

For me, the secret of avoiding being hurt is living in denial. Somebody isn't who he or she said they were? Focus on why you liked them in the first place. Lose someone? Focus on everyone who's still here. People always look at me with condescending eyes when I say things like this, like I'm an innocent little girl trying to give much wiser people advice, and perhaps I am still a little naïve (after all, I'm still only fifteen), but my denial strategy always seems to work. That, and the values of honour and justice that come with being a member of the Stark family.

I walk into History class, and sit somewhere inconspicuous. It's not that I don't want the teacher to notice me, which is usually why people sit to the side or at the back of classrooms – the teacher, in fact, is Miss Mordane, a kindly older woman who's always shown admiration and warmth towards me and Arya. Rather, it's part of my "living in denial" strategy. Robb apparently got into a fight with Joffrey Lannister earlier today, and no one seems to know why. I wasn't there to watch – I tend to shy away from big crowds of rowdy onlookers – but I feel like everyone's questions will be directed at the sister of the instigator, and if I hide away from those questions, and pretend nothing ever happened, then perhaps everyone will forget about it, and my family and I won't be in the Iron Throne High limelight for long.

And my luck seems to be getting even better, because a boy comes to sit next to me. And it's Joffrey Lannister.

Joffrey, who my brother just picked a fight with. Joffrey, who has just executed the quickest act of forgiveness I've ever been witness to. Everyone in the school just watched him be slammed against the wall and punched in the face (there are still traces of blood around his nose), by an older boy twice his size, and yet he very openly sits next to that same boy's sister in his next class? Unheard of. And then, even more strangely, he starts talking to me.

"Hey," Joffrey whispers. "God, she's dull, isn't she?" he continues, his blonde head inclined towards Miss Mordane and her passionate monologue about the English Civil War.

"_So_ boring." I sigh in reply. I actually find Miss Mordane one of the more tolerable teachers in this school, but given the day's events, Joffrey doesn't seem like a great person to argue with. And even if the fight hadn't happened, Joffrey is the still the most popular boy at Iron Throne High, so I don't want to waste a rare, sought-after interaction with him on a pointless disagreement about a teacher.

"I didn't catch your name." He says, after a while. I hesitate before replying; I'd like to say my name is Sansa _Stark_, to honour one of the most respected names in Westeros, to do the proper duty to my late father, to do justice to Stark Inc., our family company, the continuation and success of which meant so much to my brother. But saying I share a surname with his attacker might alienate Joffrey, and whatever opportunities I might have had with him would be lost.

"Is that a hard one?" he asks, noticing my hesitation, a somewhat cruel smirk appearing on his face. _No! He's not cruel_, I hurriedly scold myself, _he's just laughing at you because you're an idiot and can't think of one answer to his simple question_.

I laugh light-heartedly, to rid myself of the confused loyalties inside of me. "Sansa." I finally say. Who knows what kind of awkward situations I could get myself into if I used my surname?

He either doesn't see my hands shaking, or he chooses to ignore it. "It seems we've never met before, Sansa." He says, emphasis on my name. "I've heard great things about you." _From where?_, I wonder. _It's probably just his way of impressing me. _We exchange casual conversation like this for most of the class, about school, people in our form, music, and the like, until he startles me."So listen, I was going to invite a bunch of my friends, Meryn, Boros, people like that, around to mine this weekend, to celebrate the new school year, and you seem nice, so I thought you might like to come too. You know where I live, right? Casterly Road, in the Lannisport area?" _Lannisport. The RICH area. The LANNISTER area. _"Nothing serious, obviously, we've only just met. But my mother said I needed new friends, and you seem the right type." He raises his eyebrows, and I look at him for just a moment, but it's enough. His blonde hair and green eyes that I can't help staring at, even though I know they're conventionally "Lannister" features, how accepting he's been of me during this class, the escape he provides from my current problem of how to deal with what Robb did, everything about him compels me into replying:

"Sure. I'm probably free Saturday. By the way, I'm sorry about what happened to you earlier."

"It's nothing. You think I haven't had some coward throw a punch at me before?"

I frown a little at this, but hide it in a giggle. _There's finally a boy here who takes an interest in you, Sansa. And the best part is, he hasn't yet asked for your surname. _I sigh inwardly, at this reminder of the problem that is my family. How will they react to me befriending a Lannister? And what will he say when he realises I'm a Stark?


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Robb POV

"Here you have it. Dragonstone Island." Daenerys spins around as she introduces our destination, her light sundress floating in the wind around her body, making a mock-dramatic gesture with her arms. I laugh a little at her enthusiasm.

"Well, _someone's _excited." I smile as I run to catch up with her heightened pace.

Daenerys shrugs. "It means a lot to me. You'll find out soon."

I've spent much of the walk here intrigued about Daenerys's mystery locale, and now that we've arrived, my curiosity hasn't really decreased. Her excitement and obvious emotional connection with our destination made me wonder if we could be going to a sentimental place full of memories from her childhood, but surely no family in Westeros would bring up a child in such a forbidding place as Dragonstone Island. The only hint of former civilisation is the remnants of once-imposing battlements at the island's highest point, but given Westeros' long history, a ruined castle in this city is not an unusual sight, and none of them have been used for thousands of years. The rest of the island consists of steep hills and unfriendly coniferous forests, and the sort of unforgiving, jagged rocks that were the reason lighthouses were invented, the grey waters of the Narrow River spewing aggressively against them. The river's shallow in this area, and there's a pebbly strip of land fairly untouched by the river that Daenerys and I walk across to reach the island.

I tread carefully behind her, still sceptical about Daenerys's apparent familiarity with this place. She seems to sense this, and speaks up. "You don't like this, do you?"

"Er, it wasn't what I was expecting." I say truthfully.

She reaches the shore of the island, and stops, and faces me fully. "Typical Stark. Caught up in their cosy little suburb in North Westeros, with no real taste for the unknown. You thought I was about to show you the cute little terraced house I was born in, like your one on Winterfell Avenue, didn't you? Well, you're wrong. I thought you were the kind of Stark who could keep a secret. Who I could _trust_. Who might have some secrets I could be trusted to keep. Who wouldn't be scared of somewhere like Dragonstone. Who would listen to me when I said I know this place, and it isn't dangerous. I thought you were different, Robb _Stark_." She spits out my last name.

I cast my eyes down. I had high hopes for trust, and even friendship, with Daenerys, but it seems I've already put a foot wrong. I clear my throat. "Maybe I am just a typical Stark. Starks fear places like this, but Starks are also brave. Brave about unknown islands, and brave about trusting girls they just met. And even if I am a typical Stark, surely a typical Stark can change?"

She smirks, a look of mischievous curiosity on her face. Perhaps she isn't the only one good at persuasion here. "Follow me. You deserve a chance, Stark."

Daenerys POV

We climb the rocky paths through the volcanic forests of Dragonstone, still in comfortable silence, Robb's mind on whatever secrets he may have, and my mind on my own. I visit the island when I need to be alone, or to think about something, and I always feel a strange sense of…longing when I come here. Déjà vu, you might call it. I lived here during the better days of the Targaryen family, and even though I can't remember it, when I come back here, a wave of nostalgia comes over me, as if some part of me still has memories of that simpler time. My brother would laugh if he knew, of course. He isn't one for sentimentality, and his goal is to become so successful that everyone will forget that our parents and their mistakes ever existed.

I pause for a moment, and inhale sharply, the same way I always do at this point on the walk up to Dragonstone Castle. There's an inconspicuous gap in the overgrown hedges, and if you know that the gap is there, you will see it beyond the hedge, where the path gives way to a clearing filled with long grass, in the centre of which is the ruined castle. When I was younger, I always used to come here and imagine myself as a girl from a fairy-tale, peering through the magic woodland, chancing upon the fairy queen's castle, and finding out that the fairy queen was my long-lost mother. Or something like that. Now, of course, I've grown out of such imaginings, but it still never fails to excite me, looking at the ruins through the gap in the hedgerow, and thinking that I am a direct descendant of the lords and ladies, hundreds of years ago, who built an imposing castle on this very site.

"Robb?" I call, realising that I've stopped here for so long that he's probably either grown bored or become lost somewhere on the path behind me.

"Yes? I was wondering when you'd awake from your…_stupor_." He's closer than I thought, leaning against the nearest fir-tree, observing the pensive, vacant look on my face.

I snap out of my daze, and hit him lightly on the arm. "Shut up," I tease, and then sober up. "Come. I was in a stupor for a reason."

I push away the overgrown weeds of the hedgerow, and wade through the long grass in the clearing, around the ruined walls of the castle, with Robb a few paces behind me. He still doesn't look nearly as excited as I feel about the castle, but I can forgive him now. Westeros and the surrounding areas _do_ have their fair share of castles, and Iron Throne High school journeys are practically synonymous with rainy guided tours of ruins. My emotions got the better of me earlier, and I took it out on his family. I now see it's nothing to do with that, just that he doesn't know yet what makes Dragonstone so special.

But he will soon.

There's a rocky outcrop at the edge of the clearing, looking down the slope to the river, where the tranquil grass of the clearing abruptly gives way to harsher crags, and you're reminded that Dragonstone is not just a place of peace. Like I need reminding.

I gesture for Robb to sit beside me on the crag, and decide to break the silence. "So…" I trail off.

"So." He repeats, smirking, a conclusive note in his voice. I survey the view; this crag extends far enough that you can see most of the city if you stand at its far end. I watch over Westeros, starting from the mountains in the North, to the ancient suburbs that Robb calls home, through the well-to-do areas in the South, Lannisport, and The Reach, and the city centre, close to the river, that some nickname King's Landing. I then turn to the roaring current of the Narrow River, separating Westeros from the Essos region beyond, with a wistful look in my eyes. The river was probably exactly like this when I was born, during that raging thunderstorm my brother always told me about. Cynicism then replaces my dreaminess, as my eyes drift to Essos, and its barren countryside occasionally interrupted by small, grimy towns rife with poverty. Towns like the one I live in.

"I was born here." I finally say. If I delay it any longer, I'll probably never tell him why we're here at all, and then I'll later regret not being more forthcoming.

I've captured his interest, so I continue. "There's a small village at the bottom of these rocks, and every generation of my family lived there, before my parents died. A guy called Stannis – in his twenties, his younger brother's in our class, I think – bought our old house, I've met him once or twice, and he's isn't really the sort of guy I want hanging around my old family home. He's pompous – I think he works as an academic or something – and he seems to think this whole island belongs to him. Even when my ancestors built this very castle." I finish resentfully.

I sigh, thinking about this island, and all that it signifies. "I only lived here a few months, my mother died giving birth to me, and my dad…you know what happened to him. But I always feel something when I come here. More than I ever do in my brother's bedsit in Pentos, where we're seen as unfortunate children of deranged parents, who need people like Jorah and Illyrio, _care workers_, as they pretentiously call themselves, to control us. The call of my destiny, I guess, to put it dramatically. Like one day I'll live here again, rich and successful, the Targaryen name no longer seen as scandalous. It's times like this that I think that my brother isn't naïve or unrealistic when he says I'm the Targaryens' last hope."

Robb's eyes glaze off, gazing thoughtfully into the distance, his face surely mirroring my own. "And yet, you don't want to be noticed in school?"

"No. The best way to raise your position in a society like this is to make people forget you for years, so they don't realise just how important you're becoming until it's too late."

Robb smiles at me. I can tell he's impressed. What he finally replies with surprises me, though. "I'll help you."

"I'm sorry?" I reply, confused. I expected sympathy from him, not an offer of help.

"I'll help you. I'll help you reclaim all that you and your family deserve, if you help me."

"Help you with what?"

He sighs in resignation. "Help me with the Lannisters. They killed my father, now we need to bring them to justice."

**A/N: Longest chapter yet! Now that I've reached the milestone of 10k words, I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who's seen my story, and thought enough of it to follow, favourite, or give me all the positive feedback I've received. I hadn't written anything for a while when I started this story, although I used to write a lot when I was younger, and I honestly had no idea how it would turn out or if people would like it. So I'm so thankful for all the interest ITHS has received. Thank you all so much. - C**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Robb POV

My mother sits down in a rocking chair on our elegant terrace, my siblings and I following suit in the garden chairs arranged around her. It's a tradition in our household that we always sit together on the terrace every afternoon, and talk about our day at school. The concept is one that most of my classmates would probably say was "lame" or "childish", but I don't think any of my family could imagine it any other way. And being a large family, it's a way for us to discuss things as a whole, instead of splitting off into smaller groups.

"So," my mother says, after everyone's settled down, each stroking our respective husky dogs' fur. "How was everyone's day?" It's amazing to me how she can endure these shocking new revelations about my father's death, but still hides her emotions just to preserve our family's simplicity.

Usually I would be the first sibling to answer her question, because I've always felt that I should be an example of confidence towards my younger brothers and sisters, stepping up to tasks before them, even in something as trivial as talking about my day at school. But so much has happened today, that I have reservations about letting my whole family know about: my attack on Joffrey (which, surprisingly, the teachers haven't got around to telling my mother about), my confrontation with Mr Baelish and going to Dragonstone Island with Daenerys. I'm not even sure yet how I feel about any of these events, and I honestly don't know how to attempt to bring them up without revealing what I know about the Lannisters, or that I hit Joffrey, or that I missed the last three hours of school. I decide to give myself more time to ponder what to say, by gesturing at Bran.

I almost laugh at how superficial my younger siblings' stories from school are, compared with what's happened to me. Bran smiles in pride as he displays his latest A grade in junior school Science, Arya recounts with delight the rather violent-sounding game of tag she played with her friends earlier, and Rickon tells of the snake found in the school playground with fascination in his eyes. _Life is still normal for them, _I think to myself. _But they'll have to find out soon. _Before long, I realised that I've zoned out, and it's my turn to recount my day.

"It was your first day of your final year – which they always say is the best year of your life – and you can't even be bothered to tell us about it?" Arya says sardonically, and I ache inside knowing that my lively, innocent little sister will soon have the same burning need for vengeance in her that I had before I hit Joffrey today.

"Well, Arya, it was like any other day, really," I say cheerfully, stalling for time. "Talked to Theon for a bit. He had a good summer, apparently." That's probably the most normal, unremarkable thing that's happened today.

"Also, Daenerys Targaryen's my new, um, lab partner. She'll probably need to come over at some point to work on our project together. On, er, whale anatomy." It sounds ridiculous, but I need some way to excuse my sudden friendship with Daenerys, and a whale anatomy project is apparently the first thing that comes to mind.

"Daenerys Targaryen?" Arya pipes up. "Isn't she that hippie girl you always told me was a bit weird?"

"The very one." I smile. "But she's not as weird as I thought. You'll like her." This seems to please Arya a little, and she asks no more questions.

"That's nice, Robb. A new friend." My mother says warmly, wearing her signature mundane, emotion-concealing, quiet smile. "How about you, Sansa?" she continues, gesturing to my other sister, who peacefully gazes out into the garden.

Sansa looked troubled throughout our family gathering, as if she knows I'm holding something in. Arya, still in the younger half of Iron Throne High, probably missed my whole skirmish with Joffrey, but doubtless Sansa at least heard something about it. I'm just glad she hasn't blown my cover.

"It was fine, Mum." Sansa replies. "Everyone was the same. Classes the same. Friends the same. Life the same." There's an unnecessary cynicism in her voice, considering Sansa has never had any major problems at school, and she's too young for any kind of cynicism. "May I please be excused? There's someone I need to call."

"Who?" My mother asks suspiciously.

"Oh, no one. Just a guy I was talking to at school."

I twitch in my chair at this. "A guy? Who?" I ask, with more curiosity than suspicion.

"It doesn't matter!" says Sansa, suddenly defensive.

"If it doesn't matter, then you shouldn't need to call him." My mother chips in, using a classic line.

"Fine," Sansa sighs, slumping back in her chair and rolling her eyes. Ever the stereotypical teenager. As if on cue, the landline rings inside the house.

"That'll be him! Mum, _please_. He called me. Let me pick up." My mother nods knowingly, giving in to Sansa's pleas.

While Sansa's gone, the younger ones are gradually distracted by one thing or another, as young children usually are, and my mother's attention is diverted by the need to keep their childish whims under control. Soon enough, I find myself alone on the garden terrace. I use the solitude as an opportunity to think again about my talk with Daenerys earlier. While I'd expected her to be horrified at the thought of the Lannisters somehow murdering my father, she didn't seem surprised at all, as if murder between our families is the natural way. And perhaps it is. However, she did make me question my certainty about the matter.

"But how do you know your mother's right?" I remember her saying, in her eloquent, slightly accented voice. "And when Joffrey said he did 'nothing of the sort'? 'Course he was lying. Do you really think he'd tell the truth about a murder?" 

One of my greatest flaws, I've learned, is that I assume everyone always tells the truth, like my family and I do. Daenerys called me out on this flaw, but she didn't do it in a mean way, more in a helpful way. That's what first enchanted me about her in Mr Baelish's office, how she was able to turn around situations and make people see things in totally different lights. In not many words at all, she helped me to see that I've perhaps been too presumptuous in going ahead and attacking a Lannister so soon: my mother might have made a ludicrous assumption out of paranoia after her husband's death, and I still have no idea how the Lannisters went about murder, if they did, or which Lannister is most responsible. She also convinced me that she cared about my predicament, and was willing to use her talents to avenge my father.

I'm so lost in thought about Daenerys – the well-crafted sentences she produced, her sheer passion for Dragonstone Island and everything it symbolises, the fierceness in her voice when she promised me eventual revenge – that I don't see Sansa standing inside the doorway, holding the phone.

"It's for you, Robb," she says resentfully, obviously disappointed that it wasn't that mysterious boy she mentioned. "Some girl. Says she's a _friend_." Sansa smirks knowingly, which annoys me. It's not that I haven't thought about Daenerys in that way, it's just that it would never be a relationship my sister should tease me about.

"Give it to me." I say, with more aggression than I intended. "It's my lab partner. We have to talk about whale anatomy. It's a complicated thing, you know."

My pathetic excuse seems to have convinced Sansa, and she hands me the phone. I walk into the house, and head in the vague direction of my room.

"Hey Daenerys," I say into the phone, hiding the excitement in my voice at continuing the afternoon's discussion.

"Hey," she replies, her voice crackling a little on the phone, but still retaining the brightness and clarity that made me recognise it in the office. "I found your home number in the school directory. Thought you might like a chat. Murder and revenge are pretty much the only common ground we have at the moment, and they aren't really topics that we can wrap up in an afternoon." I can hear the smirk in her voice. That's another of Daenerys's redeeming qualities: she can inject much-needed humour into the most serious of situations.

"Yeah. A chat is very much necessary." I laugh in reply, and slump down on my bed, and shut the door from intruding mothers and siblings. I don't intend to leave the room for a while.

**A/N: Sorry about this, but I'm going away for a week again, from tomorrow until next Saturday, and again I'm not bringing the computer. But I'll try to update more often when I get back! Once again sorry :( - C**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Robb POV

"So, exactly which areas of murder and revenge would you like to discuss?" I say pathetically – when you use a conversation starter like that, you know things are getting pathetic.

"Well, I'm sure you'll agree that we'd both like to talk about the heinous things we'd like to do to Joffrey Lannister and his family. But a) we can't make assumptions, and b) you saw what happened today when you got on the wrong side of Joffrey." Daenerys's signature matter-of-fact tone echoes down the phone line.

"I follow your logic." I quip back at her, and I mean it. Daenerys can make the most complex of situations seem crystal clear.

"But I was thinking about everything that's happened to you, and I honestly think it's Mr Baelish we should worry about."

"Mr Baelish?" The way I see it, the grey-haired headmaster of my school may be able to crush dreams and ruin reputations, and hide himself behind walls of intricate deceit, but he doesn't even begin the pose the same kind of threat to my family as the likes of Joffrey.

"Yep." Daenerys replies, with a touch of cynicism. "He said the whole thing 'required further investigation'." She imitates Mr Baelish's pompous voice for the last three words. I laugh a little at her attempt at lightening the mood. She does the same, her laugh breathy and high-pitched, but quickly sobers up, and continues her monologue.

"And what'll that further investigation involve? Baelish just having a quick chat with Joffrey and you, and later both your mums, and maybe another with some of your friends? Getting their sides of the story, and working out who's in the wrong? I don't think so. Mr Baelish won't do what's ethical, like you would if you were headmaster. He'll do whatever suits him best."

I suppose that should've been obvious. That I couldn't trust Mr Baelish to sort out the matter and make everyone involved forget about it, like I could with the gentler teachers in the school. But it wasn't immediately obvious. I was so sidetracked with figuring out whether the Lannisters were innocent or guilty, that I didn't see the treacherous threat lying right in front of me, who could turn the case against my favour, if the need took him. And of course, Daenerys is the one to point it out to me.

"You've got a point." I say casually, as if I already knew what she said about Mr Baelish, and she simply put my thoughts into sentences. "But we can't exactly spy on his office all day, every day, listening in to his conversations with Joffrey and Cersei and my mother, can we?"

"No. Of course we can't. But if we know that we can't trust Mr Baelish to find out the truth about your father's death and clear your name, we have to do it ourselves. Which is scary, I'll admit, but you can't hide behind naïve ideas like the school always being willing to help you. _I _am the one willing to help you."

Her saying things like this make me forget about Mr Baelish, and Joffrey, and my father being dead, if only for a second. "Thank you, Daenerys. You don't have to blindly give me your loyalty so quickly." I know I promised to help her too, but I still wonder if there's more to Daenerys's sudden devotion than meets the eye.

"There's an old saying in my family." Daenerys has a wistful, yet regretful, note in her voice, the way she always does when she discusses her past. "My ancestors used to get tattoos of it, or chant it at parties. 'Fire and Blood'. My father took it a bit literally, and my brother's starting to go the same way. Burning things, and stabbing things…" she trails off. "But I think it's less about actual fire and blood, and more about the passion. The passion with which you execute revenge, the passion with which you take back the things that are rightfully yours, the passion with which you bring honour to your family. And, Robb _Stark_, you don't need to be a Targaryen to have that kind of passion. As long as you keep a hold of the fire and blood within you, I am willing to help."

"And as long as you're still passionate about being a successful Targaryen, I'm willing to help you too."

"You'll be helping me a very long time, then." Daenerys whispers into the phone, with the same passion she described only a minute ago. I hear a deep voice yelling angrily from the other end of the phone line.

"Oh, that'll be my brother." Daenerys sighs, in a way anyone would've said was too casual a response to the cries of fury I was hearing. "I should go. We'll talk more about finding truths and clearing names at school tomorrow."

She hangs up the phone. For a while, I just lie there on the bed, the phone beside my ear, thinking about her. I'm still unsure of whether having someone like Daenerys as an accomplice will be a help or a hindrance to my plans of…whatever I plan to do with all the issues at my fingertips. At the moment, despite everything she said on the phone, I'm thinking hindrance. Hindrance because of the way her silvery blonde hair surrounding her ever-thoughtful features has imprinted itself on my mind, hindrance because of her wistful tones replaying over and over in my head, hindrance because of how she destroyed every expectation I had of her. _Robb, _I tell myself. _There's an entire family who you suspect of murder, and there's a headmaster who could turn against you at any time, and instead you're obsessing over the girl who's meant to just be helping you? Stop, Robb. Stop. Please._

Daenerys POV

Viserys just _had _to end my conversation with Robb, didn't he? It's a shame our common goal of success for our family makes it so hard to hate him. I walk into the hall of our apartment, which doubles as a very limited kitchen. I'm not sure why I do that, though, considering I can hear him perfectly well from the bedroom.

"Hi, Viserys," I say calmly. The way to handle my brother's random fits of rage is to pretend it's all a normal conversation, and wait until all his emotions have dissolved.

"I heard you on the phone," he seethes, through gritted teeth, slinging the duffel bag he takes to work forcefully on the ground. "You're the last hope our family has of getting anything good out of going to school, and you're spending the first afternoon of your final year not doing the work you desperately need to do, but rather…_socialising_?"

"It was someone from school. I wanted some help with a paper we both have to write." I lean against the countertop, trying to talk and act as casually as I can, though my brother isn't buying it. I can't persuade him like I can other people; all my persuasive techniques were learnt from him.

"Hmmm." He says, unconvinced. "If you're going to waste our phone bills, at least waste them on Drogo."

"Drogo?"

He sighs. "I _told _you. At the start of summer holiday, remember? He's the leader of a weird hipster clique in your form. Obsessed with having a more traditional lifestyle, or something. Like, riding horses and stuff." Now that he'd gone into detail, I did remember the name, and seeing his clique around school.

"Basically, there are a hell of a lot of them in this clique, and most of them don't really have any particular familial loyalty. So if we make them loyal to the two of us, we have twenty or so more people who want nothing but success and reputation for our family. They could even help when we get the family company running again! They're hard-working, traditional people, right? Anyway, all you need to do is befriend Drogo. Or perhaps more. You're growing up to be somewhat pretty, you know, Daenerys." What should have been a compliment comes off as reluctant, a pathetic way to excuse a glorified forced relationship with this _Drogo _guy.

"I'll consider it." I say curtly, hiding the conflicted emotions inside of me, and walk back to the bedroom.

Lying down on my squeaky camp mattress, squeezed between those of Viserys and Jorah, I think through what I've just heard. If Viserys had told me about this before today, I would have been neutral, or even willing to comply with his plans. After all, Drogo's clique doesn't sound too bad; "traditional lifestyle" is a fairly innocent-sounding phrase. But then again, before today I didn't know Robb Stark. Robb Stark, who I seemed to have a natural need to help, protect and avenge. Robb Stark, who I wish I'd known in calmer times. Robb Stark, who probably thinks of me as nothing more than a sidekick in his plans for revenge.

**A/N: Hi, I'm back! Just a heads up: since the story's been very Robb/Dany storyline-heavy recently, in the next couple of chapters I'll probably be focusing more on Joffrey/Sansa storyline, and probably also bring in Renly and the Tyrells, which I've been planning for a while. Hope that's okay!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: To the guest who posted the review about Joffrey and Robb's heights not being the same as in canon, when I said Robb was "twice Joffrey's size" I sort of meant in terms of bulk and thickness rather than height. I imagined them as being of roughly equal height, perhaps Joffrey a little taller, but I definitely always imagine him more skinny and lanky. And anyway, I think you'll agree with me that Robb would almost certainly win in a fight, so at least that part's accurate :)**

**Chapter 11**

Sansa POV

So, Joffrey didn't call last night. And he said he would. Right at the end of school, he waited for me by the classroom door, and asked if I was free to talk later. And he didn't follow through. I don't know if I should be surprised, disappointed, defeatist, nonchalant…I sigh, louder than I intended, and several people at the bus stop turn to look at me, looks of impatient annoyance on their faces, as if it was my sighing that made the bus late.

Arya brings me out of my little inner argument, looking up at me with her piercing grey eyes, and utilizing her talent of always knowing what people are worrying about. "It's just some random _boy_, Sansa," she says, her voice frank and slightly tactless. Typical Arya. "I mean, you talked to him for what? A few classes?" She snorts a little. "He probably only said he would to impress you."

I roll my eyes. I'm used to playing the argumentative-little-sister game. "You'll understand some day, Arya. How long is it 'til you turn fifteen? Three years?"

Arya slaps me on the arm, slightly too hard to be playful. Sometimes she forgets that I'm not one of our brothers, or her rough-and-tumble friends at school. "Two and a half," She frowns. "I can hardly _wait_."

I laugh a little at this despite myself, and shoot an amiable glance at Robb, who stands at the other end of the bus stop. We've been waiting for the bus for about fifteen minutes, and he's been silent the entire time, lost in thought somehow, and even when Arya and I chat, he does nothing to join the conversation like he usually would. And it's not just today; something's definitely been up with him lately. It might be our father's death worrying him, I suppose, but most of us have at least partly recovered from it, even my mother, in an attempt to return to normal life. And there wasn't anything worrying about the incident…was there? I blink aggressively, to avoid looking like a tearful wreck coming into school.

Or maybe it's that girl. Daenerys, or whatever her name was. Robb never seems to notice when people are lying to him, so if they have…_done _anything, I hope that she isn't manipulating him in some way. Or perhaps I'm reading too far into it. He's probably just thinking about his whale anatomy project. _Whale _anatomy, I laugh to myself. They do such weird projects in final year.

Robb abruptly opens his mouth to speak._ Think of the devil_, I whisper to myself. But what he says surprises me more. "Sansa, Arya, I think I'm going to walk. The bus's taking a bit long."

"Robb, I– " Before I finish my sentence, I realise the real reason why Robb's suddenly so eager to walk the three miles or so to Iron Throne.

There's a red sports car pulling over to the kerb we're standing on, with gold embellishments and a lion statue on its bonnet. Two blonde heads occupy the front seats, and one of them calls my name in an unmistakable voice. I smile in relief that my brother saw the car and disappeared down the road in time. I don't like to think of what could have gone down if he found who the "mystery boy" from last night was.

"Sansa," Joffrey shouts to me, as the car parks a little down the street, standing up in his seat and leaning out of the open roof. _Why don't they cover their roof on a bitter September morning like this one?, _I wonder to myself. _Because they're Lannisters_, my brain automatically answers. _They like to show they're different. They like to show that they're better than us. And they are._

"Sansa! I'm _so _sorry I couldn't call yesterday. I'm just so busy at the moment." His voice is chillingly clear, and much more eloquent than anything I've ever heard from my family and friends.

"Joffrey here has an absolutely _packed _social life, not to mention all the work he has to do. He has an almost perfect academic record, you know. Ninety-six per cent A stars." Joffrey blushes at this praise, which comes from the woman in the driving seat, whom I assume is his mother.

"I don't believe you two have had the pleasure. Sansa, I present my mother." I feel my cheeks flush at the formality of his tone and language. It makes me feel…_special_, in a way. _Important._

Joffrey's mother rises from her seat and mirrors her son's position, leaning out of the car. Her face has a stern look to it, with high cheekbones, narrow eyes and a sharp jawline, but this translates into a harsh sort of beauty, like a cartoon villain. Long, conventionally "Lannister" blonde locks hang around her face, parted and braided into the sort of style I've seen online and tried (and failed) to emulate.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Lannister." I try to walk the line between _too formal _and _not polite enough_.

She laughs a little, a harsh sound, just like her face, and I worry for a second that I've said something wrong. "It's very nice to meet you too, _Sansa_." She puts the same sort of emphasis on my name as Joffrey did yesterday. _Why do they always do that? _"But please, call me Cersei."

I've grown up knowing the stereotype for Lannister behaviour, and Joffrey's mother – _Cersei _– seems a little too kind for that particular archetype. For a moment, Stark instincts tell me it's bait, a deception for young and impressionable girls like me, but then I remember that Cersei is _Joffrey's _mother, and if I disobeyed her, I'd disappoint him. "Cersei." I repeat, wearing the warmest smile I can muster.

Cersei smiles back, her lips pursed and her eyes cast to the side. Joffrey pipes up. "Would you like a ride into school, Sansa? The bus is late again; the Westerosi transport system is _so _faulty at the moment. Your sister can come too."

Again, the Stark instincts are back: _don't trust these people, Sansa, they'll manipulate you and make you fall into their trap if you get too close to them. And DEFINITELY don't get into a car with a boy you met yesterday and a total stranger. _But then I look again at Joffrey's soft green eyes, and his mother's welcoming smile, and I'm compelled to trust, or even befriend, them. They're very good at this you-should-trust-me thing.

"Sure. Sounds great!" I say happily, as I take Joffrey's hand to help me into the car, gesturing for Arya to follow.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Tyrell back-story in this chapter…enjoy!**

**Chapter 12**

Margaery POV

I've always been an observer. Throughout my life, I've watched people from afar: my classmates, my family, anyone who interests me. I learn about who they are, who their family are, whom or what they care most about, what they want. Only then, if I consider it suitable and necessary, do I find a way to interact with them.

This is how my grandmother operates, too. She's always been my confidant, while my father has remained oblivious to my thoughts, and those of others around me. She helped me after my brother Loras met Renly, a boy in my form, and encouraged me to protect him from the prying eyes of the class bullies, given that Iron Throne isn't the most tolerant school around. This led to me orchestrating the façade of my relationship with Renly, to throw anyone trying to get at either of them off the scent.

As I wait at the crowded bus stop, Loras and Renly too distracted with each other to pay much attention to me, I casually observe those around me. My eyes pass over various groups of siblings and friends, and smaller children holding hands with their parents, until I notice the auburn-haired girl with her brunette sister, members of the family that's always interested me. The Starks.

I smile sadly at the thought of their family name. It should be none of my business what happens to them, but I'm too compassionate to just ignore what I see. I'm also too observant to miss that there was something strange about the timing of Ned Stark's death. I don't know much about the long-lasting Lannister/Stark feud, but I do know that during last year, Stark Inc. had reached a high in popularity, while Tywin Lannister's firm had had some significant losses of some sort. And then, during the first week of summer, Ned Stark had a fatal driving accident travelling through Lannisport. It's too big a coincidence to ignore. And since Ned's death, I've always thought about helping them, in whatever way I can.

And my need to help them only gets more intense when the car pulls over. _Cersei Lannister's car_. I don't hear everything Joffrey and Sansa say to each other, but I don't need to. Joffrey, a notorious bully who's always targeted the Starks, is now suddenly nice to the pretty Stark girl in his year? I would know not to fall for something like that, but I worry Sansa will not, and nor will any of her family. I've seen what Cersei is capable of, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, let alone someone as innocent and gentle as Sansa. I want to help her, to save her, and I believe she'll listen to me.

When the bus arrives, I sit across the aisle from Loras and Renly, not wanting to tell them of my plans just yet. I stare through the windows at the uninspiring suburbs near school, and lose myself in thought, of Joffrey, of Cersei, of Sansa, and of how best to reach through to each of them.

Sansa POV

"So then I put a laser beam through the alien's heart, and that was the end of him!" Joffrey makes a sound more akin to a cackle than a laugh, as he eagerly recounts his latest video game exploits.

Cersei looks at him sternly. "Save talking about alien murder for Meryn and Boros, darling," she says. I give her a thankful glance. I have to admit that Joffrey's monologue had become a little macabre, but maybe all boys my age are like that, and I'm just too naïve to have realised it before now. "Right now, we have _guests _to entertain."

I try to defuse the awkwardness this has created between Joffrey and me. "I hardly think catching a ride counts as being your guests, Ms Lann– "

"_Cersei_."

"It hardly counts as being your guests, Cersei." I correct myself.

She looks me in the eye with a facial expression that walks the line between "harsh glare" and "playful smirk". "Anyone who a Lannister invites anywhere, even into a car for half an hour, can be called a guest. And besides, I believe next Saturday you will be our 'guest' in a more conventional fashion, won't you?"

"Yes," I smile. "Joffrey invited me."

"I heard," Cersei replies. "He could barely keep _quiet_ about it yesterday."

Joffrey's cheeks flush with embarrassment. _That's so adorable_, I think to myself, _he talked to his mum about me_. "It'll be a great party," he says, turning to me. "I hired a band to play a private set for us. One of my favourites, you'll love them."

Arya suddenly opens her mouth. "Oh, she probably won't. Sansa only likes mainstream rubbish. She's so _stupid_. She won't even _touch _the punk-rock albums I try to lend her."

I'm livid inside. Arya is so _tactless_! And she was so sweet and quiet up until now. More than a part of me wants to playfully hit her on the arm like I would at home, but then I remember this is a Lannister car, and I must be polite. "Excuse my sister," I say, holding in my rage. "She's still young. I'm sure I'll love this band you hired. I do like quite a lot of music, you know, it's just that Arya here thinks everything that isn't hopelessly obscure is mainstream." I glare at my sister.

"I see," says Joffrey, and I notice with relief that he's still smiling. "I know how you feel. My little brother Tommen is _exactly_ the same." He rolls his eyes.

"We're just about here, guys," Cersei says, pulling over. We're still a couple of blocks from school, but I suppose the Lannisters don't like to park near everyone else. They're far too superior for that. "I should be going now," she continues. "I need to get ready for this afternoon. I'm speaking with your Mr Baelish, about Joffrey. Nothing bad, of course, just how best the school can recognise his successes!" She beams, and looks fondly at her son. Of course, I know the _real _reason Cersei's meeting with Mr Baelish, but I'm not about to let the Lannisters know that I do.

"I need to hurry too," Joffrey says, already walking quickly towards school, leaving us standing on the kerb. "I have extra classes before school." Cersei smiles even more at this.

"Bye, Joffrey." I say, and Arya sulkily mumbles 'bye' from her place beside me.

"See you both around." He smiles genuinely, before disappearing around the block. Finally I'm alone with Arya, and I can tell her what I think.

"What the hell was that?" I don't usually curse, not even mild words like 'hell', but when I do, I do it around people who I know can take it, like my sister.

"What the hell was what?" She asks, with faux innocence.

"_You know what._" I seethe. "You had one job, Arya. Pretend you're my nice, quiet sister, just for half an hour, and not the fearless, occasionally violent girl that you are. And_ don't say anything bad about me_. You failed on both those points."

"I don't _trust_ them, Sansa," she sighs. "I just find them a bit…_dodgy_. Can't you just make friends with people who like the Starks, and go out with boys who like the Starks? Why does it have to be so _complicated_?"

I push her at this point, harder than I usually do, but still not as hard as Arya would with her friends. "You do not get to pick who I trust. I'm very capable of making that judgement myself." I say through gritted teeth. "You also _definitely_ don't get to pick my friends. I don't need advice on that front from a twelve-year-old who only hangs out with violent little boys." She stares daggers at me, but I don't regret what I said.

After a bit of glaring at each other, I walk off in the direction of school, leaving Arya standing on the pavement, confused and pathetic.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sorry I haven't been writing for a while, I've been away, and also school's coming up later this week so I've been busy preparing for that. So here's a longer chapter to make up for it!  
**

**Chapter 13**

Robb POV

I walk quickly along, not daring to look back, not slowing down until I've reached the end of the street. I _saw _who was in that car. And I don't like to think about what he would have done, had he seen me. Or what I would have done to him. After the events of yesterday, I'm admittedly slightly afraid of my own volatility.

I didn't see much of what happened next – I was too busy trying to disappear from the scene – but what I'm certain of is that Joffrey and his mother were pulling over, and I don't want to be too assuming (in light of recent happenings), but they seemed to be approaching my sisters.

It's not possible…is it? Could the Lannisters be trying to hurt Sansa and Arya in some way? Sansa and Joffrey are in the same form, after all. And I suppose, after the incident with Joffrey and me, the natural path would be vengeance. Guilt seeps into me, and I consider for the thousandth time why I never bother to think about things before I do them. Stupid.

With these regrets in my mind, I decide to do what I probably should've done yesterday, and let the matter go. Trying to intervene based on instincts alone would not only further anger Joffrey, but also possibly alienate my sisters. _But what if he does something to them, Robb, and you weren't there to help? _I push those thoughts out of my mind, and try to have a mature outlook on the situation with the Lannisters for once. I do make a mental note to ask Sansa and Arya about it later, though.

To distract myself from my mental onslaught of confusion and indecision, I take out my phone. I realise that I didn't check it at all yesterday afternoon, with Daenerys and all the revelations she provides distracting me, and I unlock it to find a bombardment of texts from Theon.

_Hey, why no school this afternoon? Bunking off, tut-tut, wouldn't have expected that of you._

_Wish you'd been there in Maths today. Got seated next to that girl I told you about, Ros. Applause to Mr Luwin for his seating plan._

_Robb, did your phone die or something? Or have you died? Did those blasted husky dogs of yours drag you into a pit of their excretion in an act of revenge, and leave you to fester there? If they have, I'm sure you can find some signal down there._

_Robb, seriously, dude. You can't just disappear for an afternoon. Not cool._

_Robb, joke's over. WHERE ARE YOU?_

I feel suddenly bad for overlooking Theon. While he's not someone I would trust with the sort of secrets I have at the moment, he's a good friend, and I value him. I text him back, relaxing into the gentle familiarity of our banter.

_Someone's a bit protective. RELAX. Joffrey made my nose bleed during our fight and Nurse said I had to go home. Didn't have time to tell you, sorry about that :(_

I press Send, hoping he believes my cover-up. A minute later my phone buzzes again, and I sigh to myself. Theon's _always_ on his phone.

_Oh, okay. Sorry about what that little bastard did to you, by the way. You don't go around hitting final year kids when you're his age._

I wince at the thought of most people not knowing it was me who threw the first punch. I suppose it's a good thing though, if most of the rumours going around aren't entirely true, or in Joffrey's favour. Putting my phone away, I turn out of a narrow King's Landing alleyway to face the Red Road, the main road that Iron Throne High sits parallel to. Theon's waiting outside the gates, unsurprisingly with his nose in his phone.

"Theon!" I call, pulling him out of his reverie, as I cross the road.

"Hey, Robb. Good to see your nose is better." He yells back, and perhaps I'm imagining it, but I think I detect a note of sarcasm in his voice. "How's it going with Daenerys?"

He says this so casually, that I almost don't realise how much he's deduced. "I'm sorry?" I say pathetically.

"C'mon, Robb. I know that Daenerys shares most of our classes, and I also know which two people I didn't see yesterday afternoon."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I went home because Joffrey Lannister almost broke my nose. I don't know anything about Daenerys."

He continues like I hadn't spoken. "I'm not going to pretend to understand your taste in girls, Robb. First Roslin Frey, with the creepy old dad, and then Talisa or whatever her name was, from god-knows-where in Essos- "

"Volantis, Theon. Hardly god-knows-where. Also, I was _fourteen. _Don't judge."

"Whatever. Anyway, I never saw _Daenerys _coming. Didn't think you liked all that hippie stuff." Theon smirks playfully, reminding me that he's seen through everything I've said.

"I don't _like _her, Theon. I barely know her." I say pointlessly.

"But you bunked off school with her."

"You're too smart, Theon." I reply, my voice a mixture of amiableness and resent.

"Glad you're admitting it. Anyway, good luck with Daenerys. Oh, and by the way, if you ever need help getting back at that blonde mummy's boy Joffrey, I grant you my support."

"Grant accepted." I say, inclining my head in his direction with a knowing half-smile, before losing him in the rush of students trying to get through the gates.

I sigh to myself. Of course I won't ask for Theon's help with the Lannisters, because vengeance is something I have to achieve on my own. Plus, he doesn't see it as any more than a slightly scandalous corridor fight. Or at least, I hope he doesn't. I would like to trust him, considering there's no reason not to, but there's a barrier between people like Theon, and unfailingly loyal people like the members of my own family. Or people like Daenerys. I can't forget her in the list of people I can trust.

Daenerys POV

I file into the packed assembly hall. I haven't spoken to Robb at all today, I saw him in the corridor but he seemed tied up in a conversation with his best friend, Theon. I've never thought much of Theon; to me he seems shallow and superficial, but Robb apparently sees something in him. He's probably not even _thought _about talking to me. But I suppose that's reasonable. After all, he did only meet me yesterday.

From my seat in the back row, the row reserved for final year students, I can see the entire hall. The same sight I've seen every weekday morning during term time for the past six years. Students sitting in rows according to age. Hawk-eyed teachers examining their every move from the edge of the hall. And a stage set up at the far end, where Mr Varys stands and delivers his daily motivational speech, him being more inclined to public speaking than Mr Baelish, Mr Pycelle or any of the other teachers. Today, he ascends to the stage like any other day, but what he says surprises me.

"Good morning Iron Throne," he says into the microphone, his voice high-pitched yet domineering. "You're perhaps used to me speaking on this stage, but today one of my colleagues requested that he have access to the pedestal." Mr Varys' pretentious tone makes my insides churn. "So may we hand over to your headmaster, Mr Baelish?" Mr Varys initiates a round of applause, another school tradition that has always sickened me.

As Mr Baelish walks onto the stage, and Mr Varys walks off, I notice the difference in their appearances. Mr Varys has a not especially fat, but more a _rotund_ build, a bald head and an impressive collection of gaudily coloured traditional robes. You might see him as amiable and welcoming, if you hadn't heard the slippery note in his voice. Mr Baelish, on the other hand, looks exactly like the cunning and secretive man who I believe he is. He's thin and slightly hunched over, and always dresses in impeccably neat grey suits, with a cropped hairstyle that never seems to have a hair out of place. It's strange how two men who appear so different can actually be so similar.

Mr Baelish makes a show of lowering the microphone a few inches to reach his mouth. "Good morning to you all," he says, with his best attempt at a friendly voice. "I'm going to keep this short today, because I am not one for long deliberations on the meaning of academic success, unlike our friend Mr Varys." He casts a sidelong glance at Mr Varys, who now stands at the side of the stage. "I requested a spot on the bill for today's assembly because I had a message I wanted to share with you all. I don't teach most of you, so it's important that I teach you outside of lessons. But not Maths, or History. More like _life _lessons. For example, I know that family is something that residents of this fair city of Westeros take a lot of pride in. And that is a fine thing. But here at Iron Throne High School, we thrive as individuals, not as Lannisters, Starks, Targaryens, Baratheons, et cetera." I wince at the use of my family name. "My own family had nothing to take pride in, and I spent my whole life trying to become more than who they were. Hence I have a tattoo of a mockingbird on my back, my own personal symbol, not my family's. And, my friends, I am not saying you should cut your own familial ties like I did, but I am saying that you should always try to be loyal to yourself when you come to school, not your last name. Thank you for listening, and that will conclude assembly." He finishes his speech, and briskly walks off the stage.

I am speechless. I cling to my chair, and grit my teeth, and it takes a while before I can bring myself to walk out of the assembly hall. Mr Baelish has just delivered a thinly veiled criticism of Robb Stark's attack on Joffrey Lannister, in the guise of an inspirational speech! I'm sure I'm not the only one in the hall personally offended, not only because I have spent my life trying to bring success to my disgraced, formerly prestigious family, but because Mr Baelish obviously knows that Robb and Joffrey's fight was more to do with a family feud than a breaktime skirmish. I hope Robb can see this too, and really believed what I told him yesterday about the headmaster. Because now I can see that I'm right. We can't trust Mr Baelish, not even with the smallest things, and _definitely _not with the details of the Lannister-Stark feud.


End file.
